


Missing

by buy_me_a_drink_sailor



Category: Uncharted
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-05-10 10:25:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5582119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buy_me_a_drink_sailor/pseuds/buy_me_a_drink_sailor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Nate met Harry Flynn he could hear that little voice at the back of his head going “Oh. I want to sketch him.” But no matter how often he tried, he could never seem to get it quite right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Missing

The first time he met Harry Flynn he could hear that little voice at the back of his head going “Oh. I want to sketch him.”

Nate couldn’t place what it was about this man he barely knew, but there was something about those eyes that shined nearly as bright and as sharp as his words, the thick animated brows that accentuated each remark, ever present laugh lines that merely deepened with each smirk and witty reply, and the constellation of moles that dotted his face, down his neck and trailed ever lower past the collar of his vneck. All these little things were just begging for Nate to try and take to paper, to capture Harry’s imagery in a way his memory and words could not.

So he drew.

Nate would doodle snippets of Harry’s features in the margins of pamphlets and documents as they prepped for their heists: a lone eye half casted in shadow, thin pressed lips blemished by a stark white scar, sharp nose that at just right angle allowed Nate to count the three faint freckles that ran from bridge to tip, and long worn fingers that tapped out a steady rhythm when lost in thought.

During breaks between physically demanding stints or while waiting for guard rotations to change, Nate would draw quick gestures of Harry either in his journal or in the dirt at his feet; the way Harry’s much larger form would curl as he hid behind the wall, or the way he stretched and walked to loosen his muscles from all the exertion.

He would sketch Harry’s expressions during celebratory rounds at the bar after a heist well done, on stray napkins scattered across the bar top, the dry side of a paper coaster, or in his journal when he feels brave enough though usually only after several rounds of drinks have already occurred. Harry would always undoubtedly attempt a peek at Nate’s drawings, asking if he could see and teasing Nate when denied with words like “Ooh, it’s a dirty drawing isn’t it?” Harry was always easy enough to distract with another round of drinks or some witty banter, and when the older man was suitably occupied once more, Nate would return to his work, holding his sketches just a little closer to himself and a little more angled so that the other man wouldn’t be able to see, far too embarrassed to explain why every surface is littered with portraits of Harry with various expressions, his face altering as quickly and as vividly as the stories he told, loose and free with excitement and alcohol.

Alone, Nate would draw by memory. He would sketch quick little works of basic form, the lines fast and loose, dark smudges of ink and graphite smeared across the page as he concentrated on speed rather than cleanliness. He would create detailed works of various sizes, rendered with a careful hand that would clearly demonstrate the time and effort he’d put into it. It indicated a play of light, texture, and a clear sense that someone deeply cared about the work. He varied his art, both in quality and size, anything in an attempt to make sense of it all.

But he still couldn’t get it right.

There was something about Harry Flynn that Nate just couldn’t quite figure out how to capture, his drawings inadequate in visually expressing whatever it is that made Harry Flynn the way he is, whatever that happened to be. And it bothered Nate that he couldn’t put his finger on it. When it came to Eddy Raja he had no problem bringing that energy to paper, or even that first time he met Chloe, his portraits radiated a sort of excitement that one simply knew from looking would accompany her. Nate would joke that he could make anything look like Sully by simply adding a moustache and cigar, and though Sully might grumble and complain he couldn’t deny the fact that the kid was good enough to do just so. Nate never had an issue with bringing energy to his art, but when it came to Harry it just never looked quite right.

As the years progressed and they quickly moved beyond that of simple acquaintances, Nate finally caved and asked Harry to pose for him. Harry didn’t disappoint in teasing him just as Nate knew the other man would, but eventually he agreed. So as they sat facing out towards the ocean on that South African beach after yet another successful heist, Sully away with a claim of being too old to join them (though Nate knew it was more of an animosity towards Harry than anything), a cold beer for each and overhanging fronds to help combat the sun, Nate began to draw.

He didn’t start right away, taking a moment to really look at Harry as he tried to figure out how to approach it now that Harry was finally sitting before him. Nate could see the corner of Harry’s lips begin to pull upwards after a few moments, the other man clearly fighting the urge to commentate though his need to speak eventually won out over his self control.

“Come on now, Mate. You didn’t need to come up with that excuse if all you wanted was to get a good look at this handsome mug. I’d have sat for you, Darling, all you had to do was ask.”

“Oh har, har, aren’t you funny.”

“Har-har-Harry. That’s what they call me.”

Nate rolled his eyes at the comment but decided that this was just as good of time as any to begin.

Finally putting pencil to paper, Nate began to sketch. He began with the form, getting a feel for Harry’s presence on paper and how he occupied the space. He caught Harry’s grin and wink out of the corner of his eye, ignoring it as he concentrated on the landmarks of the face.

“How come you’ve asked me to pose for you?” questioned Harry, his fingers tapping a gentle rhythm against the neck of the bottle as he alternated between looking at the beach goers and studying Nate as he worked. “I’ve never seen you do this with anyone else.”

Nate hummed, having known that Harry would be unsatisfied in sitting quiet. He darkened the placement of the right eye.

“Maybe I have. Not like you’re around often enough to know either way.”

An indication of a scar was added.

“Oh come on now, Mate. No need to make me out to be a stranger. How many times we’ve worked together now?” Harry held a hand up, wiggling his fingers as if to demonstrate, “Next time we meet I’ll have to start using two hands to count it.”

Nate looked up from beneath his lashes, head still angled towards the paper. He took a moment as if to assess Harry, a hint of smirk pulling at the corners of his lips.

“Five times isn’t exactly a lot by most people’s standards.”

Harry huffed a breath of laughter. “It is in our business; that’s practically loyalty at this point.” 

Nate watched as Harry turned back towards the beach goers once more, watching as two children ran past with sticks in hand and couple, likely the parents, called after them, hands intertwined as they made their way along the shore. Harry studied them for a moment longer before taking a swig of his beer.

“Besides, when have we ever been like most people.”

Nate could hear the meaning behind those words; that white picket fence life with the 2.5 kids weren’t meant for people like them. He couldn’t tell if Harry was saddened by it or not.

“Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to be like most people,” pondered Nate.

“Or maybe,” Harry began, pausing to emphasize his point, “the grass is always greener and it’s really a hell of a lot worse than we think.”

Nate wasn’t so sure, but he didn’t know if he could bring himself to say otherwise.

“Maybe you’re right.” He added a little more definition to the lips, pausing when a thought came to him. “What do they even do for fun?”

Harry shrugged, making an exaggerated noise as he made a grand sweeping gesture with his beer bottle.

“Hell if I know. Bingo night?”

Nate laughed.

“Or maybe they pretend that they’re us.”

Harry turned back to the passing family once more, watching as one of the children jumped out from cover behind some rocks, wildly swinging his makeshift sword in some mock attempt of an attack upon his younger sibling.

“Ha, yeah alright,” he agreed, eyes softening for a moment at the thought, “Maybe they pretend that they’re us.”

They fell into idle chatter soon after, the sun slowly beginning to dip as time progressed. Nate was adding some of the final details in when Harry polished off his beer, holding it overhead for inspection before turning to stare longingly up the beach towards the bar.

“Should I go get another beer?”

“No, I’m nearly done,” said Nate. He laid his pencil down in order to pick up the drawing, looking it over with a critical eye.

“What?” asked Nate as he caught Harry staring, one eyebrow poised high in question.

“You’re making a face,” said Harry, nodding his head towards the artwork in Nate’s hand. “Something wrong with it?”

“Not exactly.” Nate tilted his head, squinting his eyes as he did so. “Just having a hard time getting it right.”

“Can’t quite capture my beauty? I’ve been told I have an essence that simply can’t be put down to words or paper.” 

Nate snorted. “Don’t flatter yourself, Flynn. I’m just trying to figure out how to draw all you moles. There’s a lot of them.” He picked up his pencil to add one to the neck that he missed.

Harry brought a hand up to rub at his cheek, suddenly mindful of those very moles.

“There is, isn’t there.”

Nate could have smacked himself for that lack of tact, having clearly hit upon a sore point. He could feel his face heat up in a way he knew was from more than just the presence of the sun. 

“No it’s… I mean I like it, I just…” Nate fidgeted as he sought for the right words, nearly dropping his pencil while doing so. “I’m trying to figure out the best way show them.”

“Are you saying you like my face?” Nate could hear the grin in Harry’s voice without having to even look up from his work.

“That’s not what I meant,” Nate mumbled, frowning into his paper. He could feel that heat burning right up to the tips of his ears. He looked up in time to catch Harry’s smile, softer than he was used to seeing before it suddenly turned sharp again as he made a grab at Nate’s half finished beer before it could be pulled out of reach.

Nate adjusted the corner of the mouth with his pencil, quick to capture it before it disappeared from memory.

“Calm down, Drake,” Harry teased, “No need to defend your manliness to me. You already lost that when you asked me to pose as your model.”

Despite his seated position, he cocked his hips to the side, pursed his lips and fluttered his eyes as if he was mockingly attempting to seduce.

Nate scowled. “I will walk away.”

“Alright, Sweetheart,” laughed Harry, breaking out of his pose to take a sip of his stolen beer, heedless of its warmth from having sat out too long. “No need to get your knickers in a bunch. Just finish your drawing.”

Nate looked back down at the artwork again, uncertain of what it was he even needed to do at this point. He made several attempts to put the pencil to paper, but aborted the movement every time when it didn’t feel quite right.

“You done?” asked Harry, pulling Nate from his thoughts, “You stopped drawing.”

“No, I…” Nate sighed, rubbing at his head with the pencil end, fighting for the words to describe his reluctance. “It’s still missing something. I just don’t know what it is.”

“Let me see. Maybe I can spot it.”

Nate hesitated for a moment before handing his journal over, unused to actually letting Harry see his drawings when asked for it.

Harry placed the beer bottle aside and took the book from Nate, turning it around so as to face him. When his eyes fell upon the artwork within, he seemed to hesitate for a moment before his body sagged in a sort of stunned relief. “Oh,” he whispered and then said no more as he studied the drawing.

“Say something,” said Nate when he could wait no longer, eager to know Harry’s thoughts, nervous to know if he approved. He didn’t know what to make of the other man’s expression and it worried him.

Harry ran his fingers against the edges of the page as if he was compelled to touch the artwork but afraid he might damage it. There was a gentleness to the touch that Nate was unused to, much like that earlier smile which had now returned, softening the overall look of Harry’s face. 

“Mate, I might not be an artist, but I think I’ve stolen enough works at this point to know a thing or two. This is pretty damn good work if I do say so, moles and everything.” The words were meant to be teasing, but there was a sort of tenderness to it that left Nate momentarily breathless.

“Maybe you wouldn’t be so bad at joining those normal people after all,” Harry added. There was a new emotion hidden in those words that Nate couldn’t quite place. Sadness, perhaps? Or maybe longing? He frowned, uncertain of what to say. 

“Not really my thing.”

The smile that Harry offered him made Nate think perhaps he’d answered correctly after all. 

“Didn’t think so,” said Harry, his words and his gaze holding Nate in his seat. “Don’t think those normal people would know what to do with you anyway.”

They fell into silence. The conversation between them felt incomplete, as if there were words being left unsaid. Perhaps Nate was missing something, and just like the drawing he didn’t know what.

“Still,” he began when the silence started to get to him, “Don’t think I managed to get it quite right.”

The edges of Harry’s smile pulled a little too tight and the moment was shattered. The unease was lifted, but Nate couldn’t help but feel as if he might have lost out on something important.

“What’s that saying about being your own critic?” Harry looked down at the drawing once more, but this time looking much more carefree and amused. “You know what I’ll make you a deal, Drake. You let me keep this one,” and here Harry taps a finger against the page, that steady rhythm that Nate had grown so used to hearing, “and I promise to pose for you whenever you want. I’ll even keep my complaining down to a minimum.”

“You mean whining,” Nate retorted, “And I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Harry brushed the comment off with a wave of his hand.   
“Toe-mae-toe, toe-mah-toe. Deal or not?”

“Cocky bastard.” Nate wasn’t exactly eager to let Harry’s ego grow any larger just because the older man seemed to think there was something that Nate wanted from him. “You really think I’m going to still want to draw you after this?” Harry merely grinned at him and Nate supposed in its own way that it was enough of an answer.

“Okay fine, say that I do ask again, and we’re calling this a total hypothetical situation, you really willing to drop everything just to be my model?”

Harry shrugged.

“Within reason. You’ll probably have to wait a few days if I’m in the middle of a heist otherwise you might have to wait a few months just for me to get out a prison from messing up a rushed job. You ever been to a Turkish prison, Mate? I don’t recommend it.”

That comment seemed to throw Nate off for a moment.

“How did you end up in a Turkish prison?”

“Oh no, I’m going to have to be a lot more drunk to tell that story. Not exactly my proudest moment after all.”

Nate laughed, making a quick mental note to ask again after they’ve had a few more drink.

“Well then I suppose a few days wait wouldn’t hurt.”

Harry watched as Nate reached for the beer bottle, tipping it all the way back to finish off the last sip. He grinned at Nate, and Nate returned the grin right back.

“Besides,” said Harry, “I can’t imagine it being all that bad if it means spending time somewhere with a view like this, a beer in hand, and a good mate to drink with.”

With the sky painted in various shades of oranges, blues, and purples as the sun finally began to dip below the horizon, Nate couldn’t think of anything else he’d rather be doing at that moment in time than sit with Harry beside him, still cradling his journal with as much care as anything they’ve obtained in a heist, if not more so.

“Yeah,” Nate agreed, “not bad at all.”


End file.
